Bored
by patemalah21
Summary: Sherlock is bored and is desperate for a case. He is becoming a little irritable.


**Bored**

_A/N Sherlock is bored and is desperate for a case. He is becoming a little irritable. _

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap. Tap. The quiet clicking of the keyboard was the only sound beyond the soft hiss of the ventilation system circulating fresh air in the lab at Bart's. Sherlock Holmes looked up from the microscope and gazed in the direction of the soft clicking. He grunted, and shifted slightly on the stool before focusing on the slight figure of the woman sitting in front of the computer in the nearby office. The harsh fluorescent lighting reflected off her brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She had been sitting there for hours and he observed from the discontentment on her face that she was no closer to finishing her task. As he watched, her small delicate fingers hesitated, and then hit the delete key. With a frustrated sigh she stretched her arms into the air, then hunched back over the keyboard and began tapping anew.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed rather loudly. The tapping hesitated then resumed its relentless clatter. This was almost more than he could endure. He glanced in her direction and sighed again. He needed to prepare more samples. Really, was it too much to ask to get a little assistance? It wasn't as if she was meeting a deadline or anything. With a small huff, he stood up and walked the three feet to the cabinet that held the supplies, retrieved the necessary supplies and returned to his post and began preparing the slides using the contents of the three petri dishes beside his microscope.

The problem was he was bored. Sherlock had been sitting in front of that microscope for days now with nothing more exciting to look at than mold cultures, soil samples and the odd fingernail scraping. It was positively exhausting. Where was murder and mayhem when you needed it? If he didn't get a case soon he was going to explode. It was so bad, he thought seriously about accepting cases that he would normally turn up his elegant nose at. Perhaps a four wasn't too boring after all. Hell, he was ready to start rescuing old lady's cats from trees. Anything had to be better than this.

ɸ

Sherlock looked up from the microscope and grinned as John Watson walked through the door.

"John!" he exclaimed joyfully, "Tell me there is a case!" Sherlock looked expectantly at his friend.

"Sorry mate," John shook his head. "I just got off work at the clinic and stopped by to see how things were going. I take it that there is nothing new?"

"No." Sherlock grimaced. "I've texted Lestrade a dozen times today, but haven't heard a word."

"Well, he knows how picky you are. Be patient, Sherlock. Something will turn up soon."

"If he doesn't find me something, I just may be the next case he is investigating!" Sherlock threatened. "I think I could kill the next person through that door out of sheer boredom! "

"Hush!" John said frantically. "Don't even joke about a thing like that!" He glanced over his shoulder nervously. "You know how upset she gets when you talk like that."

"I don't care! I'm bored, John! I can feel my brain cells expiring as we speak!" Sherlock whined.

Behind them, the tapping paused for a long minute, then started it's staccato rhythm at a slightly faster pace.

"There, see, now you've done it!" John whispered. "She heard you."

Both men waited silently for a few moments, then sighed in relief when the typing continued without another pause.

Suddenly Sherlock stood up with a gleam in his eye.

"John, perhaps you would like to assist me in a series of small experiments?"

John glanced up at his flat mate who was suddenly standing very close staring down at him with a smirk on his face and a devilish gleam in his eye.

"What? No. no. Sherlock, stop looking at me like that! I am not a guinea pig or a lab rat. Whatever you are thinking of the answer is no!"

Sherlock crowded close to his friend, gave him a provocative smile and purred. "I'm sure you won't mind helping me. It's just a few touch and reaction experiments. I tried it on Molly last month and she seemed to enjoy it. I need a male subject to complete my project."

John swallowed convulsively and reminded himself that he was not gay as he carefully backed away from his friend.

"I promise it will be relatively painless. You might even find it enjoyable." Sherlock smirked as he stalked his rapidly retreating blogger across the room.

John's eyes grew wider with each backward step. "Sherlock! Stop!" John's voice actually squeaked as he stared at his towering friend. "I am not doing this. I mean it.!"

Behind them, the clattering sound ceased. An aggravated groan came from the direction of the petite form as Sherlock looked back over his shoulder. John seized the opportunity and dunked under Sherlock's arm and hurried to the door.

"I'll see you later Sherlock." John yelled as he fled out the door.

Sherlock returned to his microscope. So much for a quite possibly entertaining diversion. He sighed as the nerve-racking tapping began again.

ɸ

"Yoo-Hoo! " came a familiar call. Sherlock looked up from his slides in time to see his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, pop through the lab door.

"Mrs. Hudson! What are you doing here?" the consulting detective asked.

"Well, I came over to see Mrs. Turner. The poor dear fell and broke her leg yesterday. She's up on the fourth floor with her leg in a cast. They had to do surgery, so they are keeping her for a few days. I brought her some homemade shortbread, but they discovered she's diabetic, so I thought I would slip down here and leave the biscuits for Molly. "

"Mmph," Sherlock grunted and helped himself to a biscuit.

"Just one," Mrs. Hudson scolded gently. "These are for Molly. I'll just take them over to her office and leave them for her." She crossed the room and headed toward the tapping sounds. Sherlock finished his shortbread and stared once more into the lens of the microscope. In the background, he could hear Mrs. Hudson's soothing voice and thankfully, the awful clatter ceased for a few minutes.

"Sherlock, dear," Mrs. Hudson said a few minutes later as she returned from leaving the biscuits, "I have a message from John."

Sherlock gazed up at her.

"I ran into the poor boy in the hallway and he was beside himself about something. He told me to tell you he was going to stay over at a friend's house tonight and to not expect him at home."

Sherlock smirked. "That would be Sarah," he said. "He'll be using the Lilo again." The detective informed her.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson said, "have you boys had a domestic? You really shouldn't aggravate him like that Sherlock. You're lucky he puts up with you," she gently chided. "Well, I must be off. Mrs. Turner's married ones are anxious to hear how she is doing. They miss her dreadfully already. Such nice boys..." Mrs. Hudson's voice trailed off as she left the room.

Sherlock smirked and ate another biscuit. He had nicked four more when Mrs. Hudson wasn't looking.

ɸ

Sherlock looked up as the door creaked and Lestrade walked into the lab.

"Well, it's about time!" Sherlock said rather tersely. "What do you have?"

"What?" Lestrade said rather blankly. "Oh, yeah, I brought the DNA results over from the Walker case." He handed Sherlock a file.

Sherlock glanced in the file, sniffed and glared at the Detective Inspector. "Just as I thought, it was the butcher all along. Why are you showing this to me now? John and I worked on that case two months ago."

"Yeah, well, Anderson kind of lost the evidence for a while and we are just now getting around to closing the case," Lestrade said.

"Anderson," Sherlock growled angrily. "You better hope I don't see him today. I could cheerfully decapitate him and put his head in a place where the sun doesn't shine!"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Lestrade said.

"Don't even mention him to me . I won't be responsible for what happens to him if I see him any time soon."

"You're in a foul mood."

"I'm bored! Do you have a new case for me? Anything that is mildly interesting will do. I'm desperate!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sorry, all we have right now is pretty cut and dried. Two domestic squabbles turned sour. A case of vehicular homicide…the perp turned himself in…and six cases of gang violence gone wrong. There is nothing that would remotely interest you," Lestrade answered.

"What's wrong with the criminal element of London?" Sherlock cried in despair. "They've all gone soft! Don't they care I'm in agony?"

"I know it's tough, but hang in there, something will turn up soon. It always does. Lestrade commiserated. "I have to go now. I will call you if anything happens." Lestrade made a hasty retreat shaking his head as he left the lab. Sometimes a needy Sherlock was slightly scary, even to a seasoned officer like himself.

ɸ

Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap-tap…tap. Sherlock thought he was going to go berserk if the ceaseless clatter didn't stop soon.

"Can't you find something else to do woman?" he yelled in frustration. "Your infernal clacking is driving me up the wall!"

The clicking stopped. The figure turned and eyed the detective. "I need to get this finished." She said softly. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you leave? Go home. Go to the Yard. You can go to hell, as far as I care. But shut up and let me get this finished!" Her soft brown eyes stared at him steadily for a moment, and then she turned and resumed typing.

Sherlock stared at her back, mouth agape. She normally gushed and fawned over his every word. Why, he had personally heard her say more than once that she loved his wit and sarcasm. That she didn't mind his rudeness at all. What was going on? Why had she turned on him? Nothing was going right today. He huffed and snorted, but she paid no attention. So he sat back down at his work station and picked up another slide. He might as well get some work done while he was here. Every few minutes he looked across the room and gritted his teeth at the noisy tapping. He decided to suffer in silence.

Twenty minutes later, the door to the lab opened and Molly Hooper appeared holding two cups of steaming coffee.

"Hello Sherlock," Molly smiled.

"Where in the hell have you been all day?" Sherlock demanded frantically.

"I was in a staff meeting." Molly said mildly. "Would you like some coffee? I fixed it just how you like it. Black with two sugars."

"No, I don't want coffee." Sherlock snarled. "I want relief from all this blasted clicking and clacking." He pointed to the form of the woman at the computer, who was still typing away.

"I can tell you've had a rough time." Molly soothed. "Just imagine what it has been like for her. Poor dear,"

"Poor dear, be damned!" Sherlock growled. I have been stuck here for a week. At first there was absolutely nothing to do. No mysteries to solve, no criminals to catch, nothing ! Then today she starts tapping away, building up my hopes and expectations. She almost finishes a dozen times only to delete everything and start all over! I feel like I've been on a roller coaster!"

"Well, it appears as if she's on a roll now." Molly smiled. "Look at her go!" They walked over to the figure now tapping frantically on the keyboard. "It looks like she has finally broken through." Molly beamed. "I can feel a story starting now." Sherlock and Molly stood behind the woman, staring over her shoulder reading each word as she typed.

Suddenly, Sherlock growled in his deepest voice. "Where's the murder? What is the crime? I need John to help me do the Work!" He shouted angrily.

Molly stared over the woman's shoulder and snickered. "I know what this is!" she smiled.

Sherlock looked at Molly in horror. "No! No! No!" He said as he read the words appearing on the screen in front of him.

"Oh yes!" Molly beamed and stared into his eyes with glee.

"It's a Sherlolly story!" They both said at the same time.

ɸ

"Sherlock," Molly breathed a long while later. "I'm not sure I would have ever thought of using an autopsy table in quite that way." She snuggled her head under his chin and smiled.

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed. He had long since given up all resistance and had decided that he rather enjoyed the new emotions he was feeling for his pathologist. It was a little OoC, but what the hell . . . When in Rome . . .

"I don't think she's finished with us yet," Molly whispered. Looking down at Sherlock and snickering.

"Well," Sherlock said with a devilish grin, "this story has to be rated at least a T, so I suspect she wants to make sure there is plenty of action."

"Will you be upset if she makes it an M?" Molly asked.

"My dear, I'm hoping for X!" Sherlock said as he covered her neck and chest with kisses of ever increasing passion.

ɸ

Upstairs in the lab, the lonely author smiled as she finished typing. Breaking through a writer's block was often excruciatingly hard work. As she proofread her words, she wiggled her fingers and grinned as she began to type Chapter Two. She was on fire!


End file.
